wonderful life
by suninmypocket
Summary: AU with no werewolves. stiles and jackson have been away from beacon hills for the past three years.
1. Chapter 1

**I was originally going to post this in 'many ways' inspired by 'if today was your last day' by nickelback, but I've decided to make a full length story out of it as well.**

If Jackson is perfectly honest, he was completely and utterly floored by the announcement. He can't speak, he can't move. He's stuck there, the phrase going round and round his head like a record on repeat. Stiles takes it better, but then again, he'd always thought that it could be possible. Jackson had preferred to think that it would never happen. Not to Stiles.

Cancer. Cancer cancer cancer. Stiles has cancer. Jackson can't stop thinking just that one thing. Why Stiles? The doctor looks at them sympathetically and suddenly, inexplicably, Jackson wants to punch him. Stiles takes his hand and squeezes it, calming him down.

Later, it hits Stiles like a freight, that he's got cancer, and he just sits down suddenly on their bed. "Fuck." Jackson laughs shakily. "Fuck." Stiles says again. "Do you know what this means?" He looks at Jackson and Jackson shakes his head.

"We're going to have to go back."

"Why?"

"They need to know."

"Who's they?"

"My dad." Jackson notices that he avoids mentioning anyone else.

"Fine." Jackson's not happy with this decision, and Stiles knows it.

"Please, Jacks. He has to know. I mean, I know I've basically disappeared off the face of the earth for him for the past three years, but he still deserves to know." Jackson sits down next to him, and takes his hand. He rubs the back of it with his thumb, absentmindedly. "Okay," he says, at last. "We'll go back."

Beacon Hills hasn't changed in the three years that they've been gone. The streets are exactly the same; the same people wander about in the same places. They see Mr Harris walking near the school. It's been a long drive – six or seven hours in all. Their small, inconspicuous, old blue Chevrolet doesn't draw any attention; no one notices who they are. They pull up outside the Stilinski house, where the Sheriff's car is still sat, badly parked on the curb. Stiles sits there, in the car, for a bit, not moving. "I'm scared," he whispers. Jackson takes his hand, and squeezes it gently.

"You'll be fine."

"What if he doesn't take it well?"

"Take what well? Coming back after three years of radio silence, or...?" He can't say the second problem. Not now, it makes it seem so final.

"Either. Neither. Both. I don't know."

"You don't have to do this."

"I do." Stiles squeezes Jackson's hand one last time, and gets out the car. "I'm ready. Let's do this."

His hand is shaking as he rings the doorbell. He has to wait a few moments before he hears someone coming to the door. He grabs hold of Jackson's hand, and Jackson lets him.

Melissa McCall opens the door. That's the first surprise. The second surprise is the wedding ring on her finger that Stiles sees when she slaps her hand over her mouth in shock. "Who is it?" Stiles hears his dad call from inside, and the sound of his voice brings a lump to his throat. He grips Jackson's hand just a bit tighter.

When the Sheriff leaves whatever room he's in and sees Stiles, he goes pale. Like he's going to be angry. "Hi, dad." Stiles says, because, really, he can't say anything else. In three paces, his dad is in front of him, and hugging him tightly, and Stiles lets go of Jackson's hand and hugs back, just as hard. Eventually, they break apart and the Sheriff looks at Stiles. "What is it?" he asks.

"I have something I need to tell you." Stiles takes a breath. "You may need to sit down."

The sitting room is exactly as Stiles remembers. It hasn't changed one bit. He and Jackson sit on the sofa closest to the door. _Ready for a quick escape_, Stiles thinks. _Ironic because that's exactly what this cancer isn't_. "What is it, then?" the Sheriff asks. "You've not decided to get married, have you?" Stiles glances at Jackson.

"No," he says, hastily. With his eyes, he warns Jackson not to say anything. "It's a bit... a bit different to that." He takes a deep breath. "Dad, I have cancer."


	2. Chapter 2

**sorry that i couldn't post this earlier, i have been busy and i will continue to be busy, so it may be a long wait for the third part.**

The Sheriff's face drains of colour. Mrs McCall, _no_ thinks Stiles _Mrs Stilinski_, sits down abruptly on the arm of his chair. "Oh," she says. Jackson grits his teeth and Stiles squeezes his hand tightly. Jackson forces himself to breathe and not yell _that's all you can fucking say?_ He thinks Stiles feels the same because the grip on his hand is cutting off the circulation to his fingers.

A knock on the door momentarily diffuses the awkward situation. The Sheriff gets up and answers it. The living room is silent until he walks back into the room, followed by Scott. Who stops. And stares at Stiles and Jackson. "Fuck," he says and walks back out again. They hear the door slam shut. Melissa gets up and leaves the room to go after him. "When did you find out?" the Sheriff asks, hoarsely.

"Yesterday," Stiles whispers.

"What do you know?"

"It's not yet... progressed far enough for them to be sure that... that the worst could happen. I'm starting on a chemotherapy drug in a fortnight, so we can't stay here for long."

"Still have a spare room if you want to stay here," the Sheriff says, gruffly.

"No, dad," Stiles smiles, sadly. "I think it'd be better if we found a hotel. I mean, Scott doesn't seem too happy to see us and I don't think us hanging around here would make him any happier."

"You're right," the Sheriff sighs, and suddenly he looks so unbearably old and Stiles just wants to curl up in Jackson's arms and cry. The Sheriff nods. "If that's the case, you might want to go find one now." He seems to be able to read their minds – the situation is too awkward and combined with Scott, it appears to be better for them to leave now than hang around. Stiles nods. "Okay," he says. "See you around."

They drive around for a bit, in silence, before trying to find a hotel. Eventually, they settle for a cheap motel on the outskirts of the town. The bed is hard and there are damp stains in the corners of the walls. But neither of them cares. "We shouldn't have come," Stiles says. "Fuck, it was a stupid idea. We shouldn't have come."

"We don't have to stay for long," Jackson reasons with him. "We can leave any time you want."

"I don't know," Stiles says, brokenly, and Jackson takes the two steps separating them towards him and engulfs him in a hug. "I don't fucking know!" Stiles screams and Jackson just holds him. Great, heaving, gasping sobs wrack Stiles' body. "Why me?" he hiccups. "Why me?"

"I don't know, babe." Jackson says. "I don't know, but I do know that of anyone I've ever met or known, you are the most likely to defeat it. Okay? You will live. I will make sure you do. And if you ever, ever, think about giving up, I will kick your ass to hell and back." Stiles laughs, shakily.

"I believe you, Jacks. But, fuck, I don't know how I'm going to do this. They hate us for leaving anyway. We're hardly their favourite people right now."

"I don't give a shit about what they think," Jackson says, fiercely. "I am here for you, okay? Only you, and they should know that." Stiles pulls back and looks at him.

"I love you so much," he whispers. "God, I love you. I couldn't imagine life without you."

"Good, because I'm not paying for a divorce." Jackson says, smiling. Stiles gives a short bark of laughter. "I love you," Jackson continues. "I love you so much that sometimes it physically hurts, but I never want it to stop." Stiles kisses him, hard and quick, repeatedly. Jackson lies his hands on Stiles' waist and pulls him close so that every part of their body is touching, and rests his forehead on Stiles'. He pulls Stiles backwards with him so that he's sat on the bed, with Stiles resting his knees either side of Jackson's legs. "You're so beautiful," he whispers. "Sometimes, I wonder why you chose me."

"Jackson," Stiles breathes across his face. "I'm not beautiful. Have you seen yourself in a mirror?" Jackson shakes his head.

"You are," he insists.

"Nope," Stiles says. "And we're not going to have this argument right now, okay? You are so unbelievably wonderful. I mean, who else would do this for me really? Who else would be happy to run away with me and elope, especially given what a comfortable life they had here? God, who else would put up with me for that matter? You're patient, and kind, and, yes, you can be a moody bastard at times, but I love you no matter what." Stiles hardly finishes speaking by the time Jackson kisses him. Slowly, and passionately, and Stiles can't hold back a moan. Jackson swallows it, greedily. Eventually they pull apart. "We are going to deal with this," Jackson says, cupping Stiles' face with his hand and stroking his cheek with a thumb. "We are going to deal with whatever shit the world decides to throw us, and we are going to deal with it together." Stiles kisses him again.

"Thank you," he whispers against Jackson's lips. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."


	3. Chapter 3

**i am so sorry that this took so long, and is so short. i promise that i will write the next one sooner and it will be longer. this is just kind of a filler chapter.**

Lydia looks up from her essay writing as Scott storms into the room. He flops down on the sofa and sits there, frowning. Derek enters after him, shrugging when Lydia flicks him a look. Boyd sits up straighter from where he's been slouched in one of the armchairs, with Erica curled up next to him. She looks sleepily over at Scott. Isaac bursts in a few seconds later, and stops suddenly in the doorway, feeling the palpable tension bleeding through the air. "Allison's on her way," he says, glancing nervously at Scott. They wait.

Allison arrives a few minutes later, and immediately makes her way over to Scott. No one says anything, waiting for Scott to speak. Finally, he does. "They're back," he spits out.

"Who?" Derek asks.

"Stiles and Jackson." There's silence in the room as they all contemplate this.

"Do you know why?" Boyd asks, eventually.

"No," Scott replies, sullenly. "I didn't stick around. They were at the Sheriff's house."

"They must be back for a reason," Lydia says, logically. "We haven't heard a word from them in three years, and suddenly they're back without any explanation? There has to be a reason for that."

"I don't care about hearing it," Scott replies, raising his voice. "They _left_, Lydia. Without saying goodbye, without giving any reasons. I can't forgive them that easily."

"What if they knew we'd try to stop them if they told us?" Erica asks, sleepily, eyes closed, but still listening. "What if they _had _to leave?"

"For what _rea_son?" Scott shouts. "I mean, as far as I can see, they had no reason to leave."

"Why don't you ask them?" Allison says, quietly, resting her hand on his arm to calm him down. "I mean, they'll be happy to tell you, I'm sure."

"I don't know if I want to hear it," Scott confesses equally quietly.

"I know what you mean," Isaac joins. "I think if they'd contacted us, or at least tried to, I would feel less like this, but... I don't know. I just think they should have told us." Lydia rolls her eyes.

"They're our _friends_," she says. "It doesn't matter if they went and did something immensely stupid, they're still our friends, and we should still treat them as such."

"I agree with Lydia," Allison says. "They'll have a reason for running away, and we should hear them out."

"I missed them," Erica murmurs, tiredly, from where she's sat with Boyd. "I don't care what their reasoning was, I want them back."

**_xxx_**

Stiles wakes late the next day, wakes to the sensation of Jackson running his hand through Stiles' hair. Stiles murmurs happily at the sensation. "C'mon," Jackson says. "We need to get up and get breakfast."

"Five more minutes," Stiles mumbles, burrowing into the covers to curl closer to Jackson's side.

"No," Jackson says, fighting to pull Stiles from under the covers. "We need to eat."

"_You _need to eat," Stiles corrects, peering at him tiredly.

"Stiles," Jackson says, softly.

"Fine, fine," Stiles replies. "I'm coming."

The café is the same one they used to go to every afternoon after school finished. To Jackson, it doesn't seem to have changed a bit in three years. _Much like the rest of Beacon Hills and the people who live here_, he thinks. They order the same food as well. And sit in the same booth.

And they both look up when the door opens, and freeze when they see Lydia.


	4. Chapter 4

**i'm so so sorry it took so long to write this - i've been really busy.**

To be fair, Lydia's as surprised as they are. Not that they should really either be surprised. Beacon Hills isn't a big town, so they were always going to run into someone they knew eventually. Biting the bullet, Stiles decides to make eye contact, and wave her over.

It's incredibly awkward at first; none of them know what to say, and Stiles kind of wants to broach the subject of _why_ they came back after three years away, but kind of doesn't. He also kind of wants to talk about why they left in the first place, but doesn't have the guts to start _that_ conversation.

Lydia doesn't seem to know what to say either - which is not at all like Stiles remembers her to be. So they sit in silence and each picks self-consciously at their food.

It's Jackson who finally breaks the silence. "How've you been?" he asks, tentatively, because even a simple question like that could blow up in his face. Lydia shrugs.

"Okay, I guess," she replies, not looking at him as she speaks. "How about you?"

"Fine," Jackson says. "Just about." At this concession, Lydia glances up.

"What do you mean?" she asks, and Jackson looks at Stiles, asking _should I tell her_. Stiles gives him a small nod in reply and stares resolutely at his breakfast.

"Stiles has cancer," Jackson says, quickly. Stiles can tell from Lydia's silence that it's sinking in.

"For how long?" she asks, eventually.

"Not too long," Stiles says, cutting in before Jackson can say any more, because he wants - no, he _needs_ - to be the one to break the news. "They said they've caught it in time. Chemo starts in two weeks."

"That's good then," Lydia says. "That they've caught it."

"That I'm more likely to survive," Stiles mutters. "Yeah, I guess."

"Did you only come back to tell people then?" Lydia questions him.

"Kind of," Stiles replies, poking at his fried egg. The yolk bursts under his attention and the yellow gloop bleeds into the white. "I figured that I should tell dad face to face."

"And how where you planning on telling the rest of us?" Lydia says, and this time there's a bite to her voice, an anger in her tone directed at him. Stiles runs a hand through his hair.

"To be honest," he says. "I was hoping to avoid that part." He laughs, bitterly. Lydia's silenced by this confession. Under the table, Jackson rests his hand on Stiles' knee.

"Are you going to come and visit everyone?" Lydia asks, and her voice is now weak and pleading. "We miss you."

"Scott doesn't seem to."

"You should have seen him when you left. No one could get him to do anything, least of all leave his room. He was moping for three months after you left. And then he got angry. You can't really blame him, you know."

"I know," Stiles breathes out.

"You did just up and leave without a word," Lydia continues, and her voice cracks slightly in the middle of the sentence. She takes a shaky breath. "You didn't tell _any_one where you were going or why you'd left. Your dad was distraught, Stiles. We all were."

"I'm sorry," Stiles says, looking back down at his plate and suddenly feeling a bit sick. He puts his fork down and places his hand on top of Jackson's.

"You need to eat, Stiles," Jackson says, gently.

"Can't," Stiles replies. "I feel sick." Suddenly, Lydia notices how gaunt Stiles has become, how much weight he's lost.

"I'm sorry," she says, and Stiles glances up at her, confused. "For going on at you," she continues. "I shouldn't. I just wish you'd have called or contacted us somehow. Just so we could have known that you were okay." Stiles places his free hand over hers and squeezes it gently.

"It's okay," he tells her. "It's fine." They sit there in silence, companionable this time, until Lydia glances down at her watch and says,

"Oh God. I have to leave. I'm late for picking up Allison." She stands up and gives them both a kiss on the cheek. "Promise me you'll visit," she orders them. "Erica would love to see you, and so would Allison." She pauses. "The others are just being _boys_. They'll get over themselves soon enough." Stiles smiles at her and Jackson takes a sip of his coffee.

"We will," he promises.

"Good," Lydia says, and then turns to leave. She's only taken a few steps when she turns back to them. "And you're not kidding anyone with the 'just friends act' by the way," she says. "Least of all me." As she says this, Jackson chokes on the mouthful of coffee he's trying to swallow. Stiles turns to thump him on the back to help, and when they turn back, Lydia has left and the only indication of her exit is the bell above the door swinging gently back and forth.


End file.
